Harry Contemplates Options During Battle
by LumosSword134
Summary: What if Snape had never managed to give the memory tears to Harry? /r/harrypotter prompt


"Harry…."

A gentle hand touched his shoulder.

"...We can't stay here."

Snape's eyes were still staring at him. He was transfixed. The hand on Harry's shoulder pulled him back and he had no strength to resist. He fell backward and Ron caught him. Quite suddenly a high, cold voice spoke so close to them that Harry jumped to his feet, thinking Voldemort had re-entered the room.

Voldemort's voice reverberated from the walls and the floor, and Harry realized that he was talking to Hogwarts and to all the surrounding area.

"You have fought," said the high, cold voice, "valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery.

"Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste.

"Lord Voldemort is merciful, I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour."

Both Ron and Hermione shook their heads frantically, looking at Harry.

"Don't listen to him," said Ron.

"It'll be alright," said Hermione wildly. "Let's - let's get back to the castle, if he's gone to the forest we'll need to think of a new plan -"

She glanced at Snape's body, then hurried back to the tunnel entrance. Ron followed her. Harry gathered up the Invisibility Cloak, then looked down at Snape. He did not know what to feel, except shock at the way Snape had been killed, and the reason for which it had been done.

They crawled back through the tunnel, none of them talking, and Harry wondered whether Ron and Hermione could still hear Voldemort ringing in their heads, as he could.

 _You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest…. One hour…_

They made their way up the empty Hogwarts grounds. It must be an hour until dawn, and yet it was pitch black. The castle was unnaturally silent. The flagstones of the deserted entrance hall were stained with blood.

"Where is everyone?" whispered Hermione. Ron led the way to the Great Hall.

Harry stopped in the doorway.

The house tables were gone and the room was dead lay in a row in the middle of the Hall. Harry could not see Fred's body, because his family surrounded him. George was kneeling at his head; Mrs. Weasley stroking his hair while tears cascaded down her cheeks.

Without a word to Harry, Ron and Hermione walked away. Harry saw Hermione approach Ginny, whose face was swollen and blotchy, and hug her. As they moved closer to the family, Harry had a clear view of the bodies lying next to Fred: Remus and Tonks, pale and still and peaceful-looking, apparently asleep beneath the dark, enchanted ceiling.

The Great Hall seemed to fly away, become smaller, shrink, as Harry reeled backward from the doorway. Harry wanted nothing more than to run - escape. He could not draw breath. He could not bear to look at any of the other bodies, to see who else had died for him. He could not bear to join the Weasleys, could not look into their eyes, when, if he had given himself up in the first place, Fred might never have died…

He turned away and ran up the marble staircase. Lupin, Tonks… he yearned not to feel…. He wished he could rip out his heart, his innards, everything that was screaming inside him….

The castle was completely empty; even the ghosts seemed to have joined the mass mourning in the Great Hall. Harry ran without stopping, clutching only Draco's wand, which felt nothing more than a stick he might have picked up off the ground. He did not slow down until he reached the stone gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office.

"Password?"

"Dumbledore!" said Harry without thinking, because it was he whom he yearned to see, and to his surprise the gargoyle slid aside, revealing the spiral staircase behind.

When Harry burst into the circular office, he saw that the portraits that hung all around the walls were empty. Not a single headmaster or headmistress remained to see him; all, it seemed, had flitted away, charging through the paintings that lined the castle, to have a clear view of the battle.

Harry glanced hopelessly at Dumbledore's deserted frame, which hung directly behind the headmaster's chair.

Empty… dead… gone…. There were no answers to be had. Even Dumbledore's portrait couldn't help him now. There was nobody left to guide him. Nobody to tell him what to do. Hermione and Ron would of course insist Harry not go into the Forbidden Forest. They would tell him it was no use. They would say it in order to protect his life. But didn't they understand that he would do anything in his power to protect theirs too?

Not that Harry believed that Voldemort would actually spare his friends _forever_. He would cease the battle, but what about a week from now? Ron's entire family were blood traitors, and Hermione was Muggleborn. And above all, he knew Hermione and the Weasleys would not stop fighting Voldemort and his Death Eater regime just because Harry was gone. Harry's death tonight would not protect them for the rest of their lives like Lily's magical protection for Harry had. He knew it was impossible to replicate _that_ sort of protection.

And in any case, Voldemort still had one more Horcrux; letting Voldemort leave Hogwarts alive _and_ with one remaining Horcrux was no good either.

He fell into the seat across from the headmaster's chair. _Dumbledore's chair_ , Harry thought, _not Snape's!_

Thoughts mulled around in the murkiness of Harry's anguished mind as he glanced over the familiar spindly instruments looking for an answer. _Those instruments were Dumbledore's_ , Harry thought savagely, _why had Snape kept them?_ Snape had forced his personality on the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom after all - why hadn't he done the same when he finally landed the headmaster gig? Perhaps Snape liked the reminder that he had killed the man to whom those objects had once belonged. Perhaps they were Snape's trophies, like how Voldemort liked to keep trophies of his victims… And in any case, the instruments, and the books, and everything in this room, Harry knew, had been bequeathed to the school. The only three people mentioned in Dumbledore's will were Harry, Ron, and Hermione…. Perhaps Snape had no longer considered them Dumbledore's things….

Harry jumped out of his seat. He just thought - _the snitch!_

He fumbled with the rucksack around his neck until he found it. Harry couldn't help feel ridiculous as he held the small innocent golden sphere. What he sought were answers and guidance, and here he was standing in the headmaster's office that no longer belonged to Dumbledore - that in fact no longer belonged to Snape either - staring at a simple snitch.

 _I open at the close._

But what did that mean? What was the close?

"Dumbledore!" he shouted at the empty portrait. "I'm not a bleeding Ravenclaw!" He was surprised to find his voice cracking, and the realization that he had been holding back emotions made it all the more difficult to do so. Tears fell easily from his eyes… even when called, Dumbledore's portrait did not respond. It remained quite empty. Harry was alone.

"Professor…." Harry said hopelessly.

Was Dumbledore too far away to hear Harry's call? Would a portrait version of the headmaster even know why the living one had left Harry a snitch with such a cryptic message?

… _. the close…?_

For some reason Harry pictured the archway that Sirius had fallen through. If anything was a close, _that_ was.

He shook his head, knowing he was going down the wrong path of thinking. _That's not what Dumbledore would have planned_.

But at this thought, the hopelessness of his situation enveloped him. He dropped his face into his shaking hands. There was no _plan_. Perhaps there had been one at some point, but surely Harry had gone off track long ago. Whatever was inside the snitch meant nothing anymore. It didn't matter if he wasn't able to reveal the stone (for he was still certain the Resurrection Stone resided within). How stupid Dumbledore was to think Harry could do it…

 _Perhaps_ , thought Harry, his heart dropping even more, _Dumbledore had never meant for me to do it at all… Perhaps I was only meant to help, and Dumbledore intended to do the harder stuff!_

How stupid Harry had been to think Dumbledore had foreseen his own murder! _Of course_ Dumbledore would not have meant for Harry to strike the final blow. _It will take uncommon skill and power to kill a wizard like Voldemort even without his Horcruxes_. That's what Dumbledore had said. But Harry didn't have uncommon skill, and _love_ , whatever Dumbledore meant by that, wouldn't help him now. Dumbledore had never trained Harry to fight because Dumbledore had always intended to be by Harry's side, Harry saw that now.

But he wasn't by Harry's side. He wasn't even in his own portrait waiting for Harry to beg for advice.

No, Harry had to forget about Dumbledore, and forget about whatever plan there might have been. Both were dead. Harry scrunched up his face in thought, begging his brain to function properly. Maybe there was still a chance to save as many people as he could.

 _You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself._

Harry's heart ached with the truth of it, but he pushed the thought aside. He had to _think_. Lives depended on him and being blinded by the fear of his loved ones dying would not help them. It would only make their deaths more likely. _Think!_

 _If, at the end of that hour, you have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you…_

If Voldemort was going to find him anyway, surely it made no difference to Voldemort whether he killed Harry in the forest or in battle. Harry was absolutely defenseless either way. His phoenix-feather wand had protected him against Voldemort when escaping Little Whinging, but what use was that now, while that wand was broken and he used Draco Malfoy's instead? And especially now that Voldemort had just won the full power of the Elder Wand by murdering Snape?

No, Voldemort's ultimatum held no actual benefit for Voldemort except the satisfaction of forcing Harry to choose the worst fate of all - death. Forcing Harry to die was one thing, but forcing Harry to _choose_ death. Well, surely that was the icing on the cake for Voldemort.

But what Voldemort gained no longer mattered to Harry. What mattered was giving his friends time to hide and re-organize. Harry couldn't see how Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys, or anyone could survive the night without Harry accepting Voldemort's bait. Harry cursed Crabbe for using Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement - they could have fled! Now they were trapped inside Hogwarts with nowhere to go. Giving himself up could buy his friends time.

How convenient his mother's magical protection had been. Quirrell had been unable to kill Harry, but not only that, Quirrell had in fact suffered from the attempt. There was once a time where it caused Voldemort actual pain just to _attempt_ to kill Harry. How ludicrously useful it would be now to have that protection. To run into Voldemort's arena armed with the inability to die and watch as Voldemort weakened himself simply by _trying_ to kill Harry…. What laughable advantage against the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time…. One wouldn't even need to be proficient at dueling. Harry had always managed to escape due to some fluke of magic. How he longed for a fluke now….

But this time was different… there was no mother to protect Harry, no protection that would make it possible for Voldemort to be beaten by a defenseless opponent, protected because someone else had made the decision to die for him, and because Voldemort granted her final wish….

The snitch thudded to the ground, and rolled away underneath Dumbledore's desk.

 _No… no_ _…_ Harry stared at the wall opposite, not seeing it. He felt his heart pounding fiercely in his chest. The realization had caught him entirely off guard. It would work, of course, he knew it would work, but there was no thrill in having figured out how to defeat Voldemort. The discovery gave him no joy.

Something _could_ protect Hermione and the Weasleys, and Voldemort had _forgotten_ , had _entirely_ forgotten. Harry _was_ capable of protecting his friends the same way Lily had protected him…. It should have been impossible to replicate her sacrifice, but Voldemort had found a way. He was making the same mistake he made that fateful night in October all those years ago... but Voldemort could not make the mistake alone…. No, Harry needed to make a choice too….

How strange that in his dread of death, Harry's heart pumped all the harder, valiantly keeping him alive. How many heartbeats would there be before it stopped? Would there be too few? And would it be because he had the courage to follow through with this new terrifying plan? Or would it be because he did not?

He thought of Ginny, and began to shiver. No - there was no need to think about it further. It was over. He knew it. There was still a few things he'd have to try first, but something told him this plan would work.

Nagini still had to be killed, he couldn't lose sight of that. Harry's sacrifice would be pointless if Nagini were still alive when it happened. Harry emptied his pockets and his drawstring pouch onto Dumbledore's desk, thinking. It was unlikely that Voldemort would linger at Hogwarts after he achieved that which had brought him to Hogwarts, making it unlikely that anybody else could kill Nagini after Harry was… after….

He could not think the word _'dead'_. He stood up and began pacing Dumbledore's office.

 _I…._ Harry began. _I…._

Harry waved his hands wildly in the air. He was filled with a frenetic energy, and he felt more alive and more aware of his own living body than ever before. Why had he never appreciated what a miracle he was, brain and nerve and bounding heart? It would all be gone.

… _.Gone…._ Harry repeated, getting closer. He looked at Dumbledore's empty portrait.

"I need to die."

The frenetic energy inside him calmed and he seemed able to think more clearly. Just as saying Voldemort's name made Voldemort less scary, saying he had to die aloud made it easier to accept.

"Accio," Harry said. The Sorting Hand flew into his hands.

As Harry worked out his plan, it was difficult not to think about how spectacularly he had failed the headmaster's plan. Whatever Aberforth had said about his brother, whatever rumors Rita Skeeter had dug up and inflated, Harry knew that Dumbledore had at least cared for Harry. That he would not have wanted this to end in Harry's death. But it could no longer be helped. Snape helped see to that when he murdered Dumbledore…. And Voldemort saw to it now when he gave Harry a choice.

Harry looked at Dumbledore's empty portrait. "I'm sorry, sir." He turned away and checked Fabian Prewett's watch, dread and fear spreading to every inch of his body. Half an hour had passed. If his plan was going to work, he had to leave now.

He collected the items strewn across the desk, secured the Invisibility Cloak over himself and, without looking at the empty portrait of Dumbledore, Harry left the office.

He had not realized that his words, "I need to die", had reached the snitch, which lay open and forgotten on the floor.


End file.
